


orange sweet, lemon sliced

by erzi



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:40:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29520996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erzi/pseuds/erzi
Summary: The breeze picks up again, Souma's hair fluttering about him. He looks up. Petals, pink and white and gradients in between, soft as the first break of sunrise, are rustling loose from the branches while the stronger ones linger. The sky can hardly be glimpsed between the trees; so lush with flowers are they, and it is easy—as it is tempting—to believe nothing exists here but the two of them.
Relationships: Kanzaki Souma/Otogari Adonis
Comments: 14
Kudos: 48





	orange sweet, lemon sliced

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not finished reading enstars but i started writing this anyway, finding out too late that [sakura festival](https://ensemble-stars.fandom.com/wiki/Sakura_Festival) happened, so let's pretend this fic is a canon divergence in that tiny regard

The air—with that peculiar crispness it carries as winter melts into spring—stings as Souma, running, breathes it in. Stride (inhale), stride (inhale), stride (exhale), stride (exhale), in a hypnotizing rhythm.

He glances at Adonis, keeping pace with him.

There is nothing physical nor verbal to give away that Souma had stolen a glimpse at Adonis, but Adonis picks up on it: he turns his head aside the smallest angle to meet Souma's eyes and offers him a smile.

The embers of Souma's diligence burn hotter, and he is emboldened by a gust of energy.

Adonis is not left behind for long; he reaches their unspoken finish line, lined with bare cherry blossom trees, before Souma. Their breathing is audible, out-of-sync with the other, and there is not a second in the almost-spring cool that isn't punctuated by either of their gasps.

"Well— well met, Adonis-dono," Souma says, taking measured breaths. "Once more, you have won."

Adonis, bent over his knees, weakly nods. "When you started... going faster, I thought I was about to have my first loss." His grin is shaky from his breathing, not quite controlled. "I didn't want to lose."

"I apologize for the sudden— increase in our matched tempo, but I suddenly found myself energetic."

"You don't need to apologize." Adonis straightens and tilts right, stretching, an arm languid above his head. "You surprised me, but it wasn't in a bad way." He stretches left. "If I can't handle suddenly running faster, I won't be able to handle fast-paced lives." Lastly he tilts back, but he lingers like that a fraction too long. There is thoughtfulness glittering in his eyes. 

Souma follows his line of sight. It's on the tree branches above. Along them, buds have sprouted, pleasantly plump, days away from opening. 

"Aren't these trees cherry blossoms?" Adonis asks, looking down at Souma.

"Indeed they are." 

"In winter they resemble any other tree…"

Souma rests an affectionate hand on one of the tree's trunks. "But in spring, there is no mistaking them for their glory."

"It's not officially spring for a few weeks, though?"

"Trees hold no faith to a calendar of our own devising. They bloom when the weather warms, and it has been forecasted that Saturday will see favorable temperatures." He pats the tree and takes his hand away. "It is fortunate the viewing parties can begin on a weekend! I would have been troubled if I had to choose between class or seeing the trees."

Adonis blinks. "A viewing party?"

"It is when we come to admire the flowers," Souma says, peering up at the branches, memory supplying their coming splendor. "And we do so while we eat and drink with those we care for. It is a reminder that beauty and friendships are ephemeralities we must treasure in these short lives of ours." He looks at Adonis. "Have you never attended one, Adonis-dono?"

"Now that you describe it, that explains why I've seen crowds under trees during spring… but I haven't done it myself." 

There is no wind today, but as Souma rushes to close the distance between him and Adonis, his ears whoosh with it. He grabs Adonis's hand and holds it between his. "Then this year I shall host your first viewing party!"

Adonis's eyes flit to their joined hands; then they meet Souma's earnestly, softness at their corners to go with the curve at his mouth. "You don't have to go that far for me, Kanzaki."

Souma's fingers tighten around Adonis. "It is what is proper to help my dearest friend welcome spring. Ah, unless you do not wish to be in a viewing party?" He drops his hand, cold seeping in. Ashamed of having been so forthright, his gaze falls away from Adonis. "I did not mean to impose my wants on you."

"You didn't. I _would_ like to go to a viewing party. But only if you have the time to arrange it. And if you really want to."

"With all of my heart," he says, feeling that self-same heart beat faster than it had during their run. "I must begin preparing immediately!"

"Is there anything I can do to help?" 

"All I would like you to do is to eagerly await Saturday and trust that I will make it a day you will remember." 

Souma no longer presses Adonis's hand between his, partaking in his warmth, but Adonis's smile gives him the same pleasant sensation. "That I can do."

The cold air enveloping Souma already stings his cheeks, and as he smiles, they sting more. But to share a moment like this with Adonis, Souma would brave even a blizzard.

* * *

Saturday morning dawns on Yumenosaki, but Souma has been awake before the sun's pale rising. He checks—for the fifth time—that he has the menu he'd intended, as if last night's preparation had been a dream. He reads his texts to Adonis to confirm he'd told him the correct time and location. 

Everything is as it should be, but he cannot quell the tingling of _something_ to come that quickens his pulse. The feeling exacerbates as he thinks of seeing Adonis soon, of his reaction to what Souma has made for him. He will like it, Souma is certain, but it makes him happy to think of it and know it for truth. 

There are thirty minutes left until their meet-up. Souma considers the walk and the time it will take to set up, and decides leaving now is best. He slips a picnic box into each arm, approves of his reflection on the mirror, and heads out.

The sun might not feel like spring, but the air does: the gentle breeze weaving flower scents lightens Souma's mind. Birds sing as they fly between trees, searching for a partner; other people are already out, some of who follow the path Souma takes to the cherry blossoms. There are couples among them, if their lack of interpersonal distance is any indication.

Souma nods to himself. _Flower viewing is indeed a most beautiful thing to do with those dearest to you._

He walks faster, geta clicking on the pavement, puffing up pollen and the stray fallen petal as he maneuvers between people, excusing his way up the crowd, wanting to reach a prime spot first. He crosses into the grass, steps now a whisper, and finds a lush tree without anyone at its base. Immediately, he puts down the baskets, removing a mat from one of them, flattening it on the grass and keeping it as such by placing the baskets at either of its corners. 

He's further away from where he had told Adonis they would meet. Rather than jabbing out a text message amending it, he walks to their original meeting spot, mentally planning his apology.

It vanishes like fog at first suggestion of sun when he sees Adonis is already there, searching about for him.

"Adonis-dono, over here!" Souma says, shuffling as fast as he can in his kimono. 

Adonis's eyes land on him. Then they widen. "Kanzaki," he says, more of a breath than a name.

"Hmm?"

"Your hair..." 

"Is it in disarray?" He reaches for the top of his head.

But Adonis, not unkindly—it isn't in him to ever be anything but gentle—wraps a hand around Souma's wrist, keeping his fingers from touching his hair. "No, your hair is perfect; don't touch it. It's… down. And you are in a kimono." He lets Souma go and rubs the back of his neck. "You look very beautiful."

Spring has not yet settled officially in Japan, but it finds a home under Souma's skin nonetheless. "I would never describe myself that way, but if you are the one who says it, Adonis-dono, then it is true," he says. "I am very happy to hear you say such high praise to me." His face is pulled between a helpless smile and a small frown, because the happiness vibrant in him is its own truth, but to just call it 'happiness' doesn't suffice. But there is no other word he can think of, and 'happiness' it remains—incompletely, unsatisfyingly.

"You came from over there," Adonis says, indicating with his head, "so is that where you ended up sitting?"

"Yes! Please, follow me."

Souma leads them to their spot. They remove their shoes at the edge of the mat, and Souma gestures for Adonis to sit before he sits himself. "I made many different things," he says as he unpacks the baskets. "Some are foods we typically eat on this occasion. Some are simply foods I thought would be enjoyable to have in such good weather and company. And some are foods we each like. Help yourself to anything! You will not slight me if you leave something untouched. I must confess I got carried away in my preparations." 

"You made all of this? Nothing is bought?"

"The tea and most of the fruit are bought. As far as proper food is concerned, I made it all myself. It would not have been a sincerity from my heart if I had not done so." He picks up a metal bottle and porcelain cups, pouring them both matcha. "Here you go!"

Adonis takes it, somewhat distractedly; he looks to the food, prettily arranged. "You even made anpan?"

Souma stills the cup of tea halfway to his lips. "It is your favorite food, but I have never made it for you before."

"Kanzaki, you're really the best." Adonis makes a move to grab a roll of anpan, but something gives him pause. "No, I'll save dessert for later. I should eat something savory first."

"Perhaps try the inarizushi? It is a food typical to these parties." The breeze gains a modicum of strength; it lifts his hair, and he unthinkingly tucks a lock behind his ear. "You have tried my makizushi before and liked it, so I have made that."

"I think I will start with those, then," Adonis says, studiously piling his plate. He takes a generous bite from the inarizushi. Souma tries not to wring his hands as he waits for Adonis to say something; even if it isn't as grand a compliment as he had preemptively imagined, he has to know— "Kanzaki."

He snaps to attention. "Yes!"

"This is delicious. You could be a chef, if you weren't already an amazing idol." He turns his head up. "Do we look at the flowers as we eat?"

The cherry blossoms. Souma had almost forgotten this is their purpose in today's outing. "We do. Poetry recitation is common, but I am afraid I do not have any poems memorized, nor did I bring a collection with me." He takes food for himself. "I was hoping conversation itself would do while we admire the flowers." 

"Sure. We can do this our own way."

Souma carelessly sips his tea; it scalds him and he winces.

"Are you alright?" Adonis asks, leaning in, like a burnt tongue is something he can make better.

He is— quite close, actually. Souma's next breath in sputters out, and he coughs, turning his face aside. "I am! Thank you for worrying about me." He touches the inside of his cheek with his tongue. "And thank you as well for your earlier compliment on my cooking."

"You're welcome. But it is the truth. You don't need to thank me for telling you the truth." He eats a makizushi whole and leans back on his hands, casting his head up. What little sunlight dapples down from the trees shimmers on his eyes. "They're really pretty."

Souma's gaze is not reciprocated, but he says, quietly, "Truly." 

The breeze picks up again, Souma's hair fluttering about him. He looks up. Petals, pink and white and gradients in between, soft as the first break of sunrise, are rustling loose from the branches while the stronger ones linger. The sky can hardly be glimpsed between the trees; so lush with flowers are they, and it is easy—as it is tempting—to believe nothing exists here but the two of them.

"Hold still, Kanzaki," Souma hears Adonis say, and as he looks back down, he sees Adonis's arm, close and unexpected enough to blur in front of him, as he brushes the top of Souma's head.

"What—" Souma starts, but finds nothing else to finish it with except his heartbeat, floundering, and that cannot be spoken.

"A few petals got on your hair." Adonis has pulled away, twirling three petals between his thumb and forefinger. With a short puff of air, he releases them. Almost as an afterthought, he looks at Souma. "Was that okay to do? Maybe I should have asked. You seem startled. Sorry."

Souma vehemently shakes his head. "There is no need to apologize. I…" Words still won't come. "Thank you, again," he ends up saying, flimsily, and covers for his lack of words with another quick bite of his food.

Adonis quirks a smile. "You're thanking me a lot today, but it should be me." He uses his chopsticks to pick up more makizushi. "You really went all out."

"Anyone would for their most precious friend."

"'Friend.'" Adonis looks at Souma, briefly; his eyes then glide up to the cherry blossoms. "Right."

 _Have I misspoken?_ Souma wonders, disliking the shortness—even by Adonis's standards—of that response. "Was that presumptuous of me to say?"

"Not at all."

 _I must have misread his response, then_. His mouth turns down a little. Being wrong about Adonis is an uncomfortable feeling. 

"Adonis-kun! You're on a flower viewing date while I'm here alone?" yells a voice behind Souma that makes his teeth clack together with enough force to crack them. 

"It's Kanzaki," Adonis replies as Souma turns around to glare poison at Kaoru.

"Oh, my bad! Can you please take your hand away from your sword, Souma-kun?"

Souma does not. "This is not the first time you think me a woman. I would suggest you get your eyes examined. Or I can entirely remove them for you. Otherwise, begone, philanderer." He soundlessly slides his sword a centimeter from its scabbard.

Kaoru steps back, throwing his hands up. "Sorry, sorry! But you didn't even ask the Akatsuki guys to come? Look at all that food! It's seriously just the two of you? It's really date-like, is all I'm saying."

Souma is about to stand, but Adonis's hand around his wrist keeps him put.

"Hakaze-senpai is like that," Adonis says. "He doesn't think he's saying anything bad. He will probably go away if you give him something sweet."

"Hey, you know I can hear you, right?"

Souma sighs, the fight gone out of him with Adonis remaining calm, his hand a soothing force. He resheaths the sword. "I will give you an orange if this will appease you and make you leave," he tells Kaoru.

"An orange? Kinda miserly, aren't you, Souma-kun…"

"And some candied lemon slices," he grits out.

"That sounds good! Thanks!" 

Souma tosses him an orange and holds out the box with the lemon slices. "You may have _three_. I am watching you."

"One, two, three," Kaoru says as he takes them. He beams at Souma. "Thanks! I won't tell anyone about your private picnic, either. I didn't need to be bribed for that, even if you don't believe me."

" _Begone_ ," Souma says, and Kaoru jogs away to the nearest group of gathered girls. He turns to Adonis. "That you can endure being in the same unit as him is nothing short of admirable, Adonis-dono. We are mere clubmates and he irritates me."

"He's not bad. You have to adapt to his way of thinking, I guess? Maybe because I work with him more I can understand where he's coming from, even if I do not agree with him."

Souma smiles. "You are far too kind."

Adonis smiles back. "I think I'd like a lemon slice, now that I know that's a food option."

"Of course. Take as many as you like." He holds the box out to him.

Adonis grabs one and nibbles its skin, glazed to crispness. "Why did you give Hakaze-senpai an orange and lemons in particular?"

"I received the orange free of charge, and candied lemons are very simple to make. I lost little effort on feeding that scoundrel."

Adonis's laugh is as lovely and understated as his singing. 

Souma's mouth lifts itself too—how can it not, faced with such a sight? He takes a lemon slice for himself. Its tartness has been placated by its coat of crisp honey. In counter and complement, he grabs the remaining orange and peels it, offering Adonis a slice. "These grow in the land my family owns. I have only ever had sweet oranges from those trees. It will go nicely with the lemon slice."

Souma had held the slice out for Adonis to take himself. But perhaps from how close they sit, or how Souma holds the orange from its corner, or the conviviality that has long existed between them as snugly as spring itself, Adonis bites down on the orange direct from Souma's fingers, lips brushing the pads of his fingers, the sister of a kiss. 

The juice from the orange half remaining on Souma's fingers seems to burn, and yet that is half the strength of his blood rushing to his face.

"You're right," Adonis says, "that is sweet. It balances the lemon, which wasn't that sour from the honey, and why are you making that face, Kanzaki?"

"Mmm?" he says, strained, unwilling to open his mouth and have his heart lurch from his mouth.

Understanding comes slowly on Adonis's face. "I was supposed to take the orange, wasn't I?" He takes a lemon slice, mouth turned down as if he has eaten the whole fruit raw. "I haven't been very good at reading you today."

He wasn't supposed to, but it had happened, it is undeniable and cannot be pretended otherwise, and— it hadn't been terrible. Unexpected, yes. Not _terrible_. 

Inexplicably, Souma can't say why it doesn't bother him. Had it been anyone else breaking his personal space so brusquely, he would have brandished a rebuke and his sword. But it had been Adonis, and rather than a bother, Souma distantly wonders if he should feed the remaining half to Adonis himself.

He squints at the orange as if the right answer is in it.

It isn't, but his mind goes over what Kaoru had said.

As if to flee from his own thoughts, Souma's eyes flick up, inadvertently to Adonis, whose worried expression—worry on Souma's behalf—makes Souma's juice-sticky fingers twitch in want of smoothing that frown away.

Souma has no precedent for what a date entails; regardless, it had not been his intention. A viewing party with your dearest friend is perfectly commonplace. 

"Kanzaki?" Adonis says.

The suddenness of the sound of his name, mingled with the onset of emotional confusion, makes Souma yelp, "Yes?!"

"Have I made you uncomfortable in any way? You got quiet."

"No!" Souma says, with a loudness that surprises him as much as Adonis. Gathering his composure, he adds, "I was simply thinking. Forgive my absentmindedness." 

A drop of orange juice trickles down his thumb.

He has no bearing for what love is either, does he?

"You," he says, loudness forgotten entirely, almost unthinkable he had ever mustered it, "did not finish the orange." And with his hand stretching, slowly, as if faster movements will frighten either of them away, he brings it closer to Adonis.

Adonis looks between it and Souma, mouth parted in a question that he swallows along with the rest of the orange. "Thank you," he says, half-lost in the returning breeze, leaf and petal susurrations like nature's delicate laughter. 

Color feels bright on Souma's face, mercifully covered as the breeze whips his hair. 

"Your hair keeps getting in the way. You usually wear it up, so doesn't it bother you?" Adonis says.

"This is nothing to be troubled by." 

"Are you sure?" Adonis shifts where he is seated. "I could braid it for you, if you like. My sisters would make me do it for them and it's made me good at it."

Of Adonis's skill there is no doubt. It's Souma's own heart he does not think will remain calm. If Adonis should sit so close to him, the pink on his face to go with the frenzy certainly visible at his pulse point would betray—

What, exactly? 

And despite the risk of Adonis seeing him so flustered, so lost, Souma goes breathless at the possibility of allowing Adonis and only Adonis to touch his hair.

His throat is dry. _This is not mere friendship, is it?_

It has been a few tenuous seconds of his silence. He steels his resolve before Adonis worries further on what is nothing but Souma's responsibility to untangle. "I would be most grateful," Souma says, dipping his head in thanks.

Adonis shuffles to him, Souma watching him until his head cannot turn further because Adonis has sat behind him. The unmistakable warmth of another person nearby drapes over Souma's back.

Souma hears the rasp of a napkin. 

"I don't want to get your hair dirty, so I'm wiping my fingers," Adonis says.

Souma cranes his head over his shoulder. "At your hands, Adonis-dono, I am sure that is impossible."

Silence in the span of a heartbeat; stillness from them both.

Adonis breaks that strange fragility with a smile to rival the crescent moon's beauty.

Souma quickly turns to the front. He has always spoken honestly, in good feelings as in bad. There are others he views positively, who he grants compliments to with not a hitch in his voice, but there is no other who inspires greater words than Adonis. That much is Souma's personal truth, standing for— he isn't sure how long. When their lives intersected, it became unfathomable there had ever been a time when Adonis had not existed in Souma's awareness.

Souma, while well-read, indeed has no poems memorized, but he could craft a thousand of his own inspired by Adonis. And is this not what the literature itself speaks of? The very same literature renowned for its romance?

"Your hair is soft," Adonis whispers behind him.

"You are already touching it?" Souma asks, hazing away from his reverie. "I do not feel it."

"Mm-hmm. I don't have a comb, so I was using my fingers, but you don't have any tangles to begin with. I'm going to braid it now, so you might feel pressure." 

Adonis places a hand at either side of Souma's scalp, butterfly-light. From the corner of Souma's eyes, he sees Adonis brush a portion of his hair over his shoulders. Should the breeze be reinvigorated, it would tousle his hair and force Adonis to rework it. But the breeze stays obediently put.

The hair gathered on Souma's left disappears behind him as he feels it gently tugged sideways. Next is the hair on his right, the motion repeated in the opposite direction. It pulls his head back each time, lightly; Adonis is deft—Souma feels no pain, only the gentle rocking. It makes him close his eyes, a pleased little hum in his throat, his body leaning into the motion.

Sweetness abounds: birdsong in his ears, honeyed lemon on his tongue, flowers perfuming the air, Adonis's hands sifting through his hair. If this isn't peace and rightness, nothing is.

"I need a hair tie," Adonis says.

Souma opens his eyes. "You finished so soon?" he drowsily mumbles.

"I've made enough braids I could probably do it with my eyes closed," Adonis replies, a smile Souma can't see lilting his words. "If you don't have one, I can put your hair in a bun and tuck the tail under it, though it would not hold long."

Souma glances at his sword, a ribbon streaming from its handle. Likely it's sacrilege to even think of using it for a hair accessory. 

He finds he does not mind much at all.

"Use this," he says, unwinding the ribbon and handing it to Adonis.

Adonis takes it, fingers brushing Souma's palm, sparks there unseen. As swiftly as he'd braided Souma's hair, he ties it together. Souma feels the tail ends of the ribbon brush against his back.

"It's done," Adonis announces. "Unfortunately, I don't have a mirror for you to see it."

Souma pulls his braid over his shoulder. It trails smoothly, not a single hair errant. "From this alone, I know it must be elegant," he says. He looks at Adonis, and though Adonis now meets his eyes back, in this moment Souma cannot hold them. He turns his eyes to the blossoms above. "Thank you, Adonis-dono."

"It's no problem, Kanzaki." He sits back where he'd been before. 

Conversation returns easily, mingling with that of those surrounding them; heightened by the blooming trees hunched over them, the food they eat, and Adonis's compliments with each new dish tried. Out of habit, Souma attempts to tuck his side locks behind his ears, and every time touches only air.

"I wish I could eat more, but I'm full," Adonis says, setting his chopsticks on the plate. "You really treated me, Kanzaki. Out of everyone here, we definitely had the best viewing party."

It was a viewing party, but him calling it precisely what it is reminds Souma of what Kaoru had said: that it was like a date.

And with it, he realizes, retroactively, that Adonis had not exactly denied it.

Souma gathers their belongings; Adonis offers to toss the trash away. They gather it into a pile on one of the plates and Adonis gets up. Souma watches him go and return, to which Adonis raises a curious eyebrow. "Did you want to say something?"

He does. How to say it right is another matter entirely. 

First an observation, then. A truth as incontrovertible as what Adonis says.

"When that disgrace of a man congratulated you for being on a date," Souma starts, "you did not explicitly deny it."

"...should I have? It didn't seem worth the effort when he realized it was you."

Something about that response makes Souma's chest twinge. "Ah. I see."

A year could fit in the pause that follows before Adonis says, "Did you want it to be a date?"

But a century could have passed when Souma, stunned to silence, manages a, "Did you?"

"It depends on your answer," Adonis says, squaring his shoulders, seeming the most unsure of himself that Souma has ever seen him. 

And Souma sees a history that hasn't happened but that _could_ unfold before him.

He speaks carefully, lest what his mind spins disappear if he goes contrary to it. "I enjoy spending time with you in a way that differs from everyone else. Everything that you do for me makes me unbelievably happy. You know that you are very important to me, but you were unaware of the extent because I have never expressed it for lack of understanding it myself. But in you asking this, and my considering how deeply I care for you," he says, twirling his braid, "I think that a date with you… would be agreeable."

All tension disappears from Adonis's body, and if he'd been bright when they had met today, then now he is incandescent. "Then," he says, putting his hand out, "maybe that's what we could do next?"

Souma blinks. "Adonis-dono? My answer sits well with you?"

"Yes. I like you, Kanzaki," he says, so simply that Souma has no reply. He need not say anything quite yet; Adonis adds, "I thought you might feel the same, but I could never be sure because though you're very considerate to me, you always say nice things to everyone. I didn't want to get ahead of myself and mistake your niceness to me as anything more than friendship. I hope that makes sense?"

Souma's spirit is soaring. "You worry about expressing yourself inadequately, but Adonis-dono, I feel I could understand you even without words. Worry not. You made perfect sense." He places his hand on top of Adonis's. "I am afraid the one who will not word himself right is me, because no word exists to describe how happy I am."

Language may not do, but it is not needed when the tenderness within Souma reigns so innately. It's nothing words can ascertain; it can only be felt, and what his heart thumps is true.

"There is a river nearby," Souma says. "It has no cherry blossoms at its banks, but there are turtles that call it home, if this is something that would interest you in seeing?"

"If it's with you."

Souma beams. "Are oranges sweet?"

**Author's Note:**

> a thank u to nadia for betaing this!
> 
> fic title comes from [this mexican children's song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IBX5Y-Bo-D8), which isn't adosou at all it just happened to be stuck in my head and i incorporated it into this LOL. there are many versions but the one i learned, as well as my translation of it, is as follows:   
> 
> 
> Naranja dulce, limón partido | Orange sweet, lemon sliced  
> ---|---  
> Dame un abrazo, que yo te pido | Give me a hug - this I ask of you  
> Si fueran falsos mis juramentos | If my promises were lies  
> En otros tiempos, se olvidarán | In other times, they will be forgotten  
> Toca la marcha; mi pecho llora | Play the march; my heart cries  
> Adiós señora, yo ya me voy | Goodbye, madam - now I leave


End file.
